


arbitrary assumptions make giant assholes of us all, by panic at the disco

by guineaDogs



Category: South Park
Genre: (but no worse than what you'd see in canon), (but not actual prostitution), Homophobic Language, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: Tweek learned a very valuable lesson: some things just weren't his business.





	arbitrary assumptions make giant assholes of us all, by panic at the disco

**Author's Note:**

> you know that feeling when you want to shake someone who died like four hundred years ago but you obviously can't so you just use that frustration to write a short drabble sort of related to it and other things that are also really stupid. anyway, this fulfills day one of bottom craig week since this qualifies as an alternate universe of some kind

It was a wondrous place, but completely different than what he was used to. It wasn't much of a surprise that it was different; this was thousands of miles from home in a completely different climate. A place where humidity actually existed, which made the air feel thick and heavy and caused perspiration to drip from his forehead even though he'd hardly done more than walk at a leisurely pace with his long-time friend guiding him through groves of queer-looking trees. 

They were just so different from the conifers of his home. Even as Tweek caught up with his friend, he couldn't stop staring at the trees. Perhaps they were kind of unassuming, but there were so many zigzags cut into the trunks, and that intrigued him more than whatever Butters was saying. 

"What's up with the trees?" 

Butters paused mid-sentence, looking up at the leaf-covered branches. "I dunno, I don't think the berries are ripe yet." 

"Not the fruit, the trunks. They're all cut up."

Butters gasped in the way that suggested that he knew exactly what was up with that and should have realized that was what Tweek was asking about from the get-go. "Oh! It's for harvesting chicle. It's this sappy resin stuff that makes a mighty fine chewing gum."

Tweek moved closer to one of the trees, and upon seeing the white sappy substance leaking out from the tree bark, he swiped his finger across to give it a try. "It's really good."

"Yeah, just don't go around chewing on that in public. People are gonna think you're a faggot."

Tweek had so many questions all at once, one of them being whether Butters remembered that he was of the homo-persuasion. Instead of voicing that, he settled on a simple question: "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, if you see ladies chewing on it all sexy like, it means she's a whore. So when you see a fella chewing chicle in public, it means he likes getting weiners up his butthole." 

That sounded fake, but Tweek decided to take Butters's assessment at face value and believe him. In fact, he didn't think much of it at all until later in the evening.

Having long since parted ways with his friend, Tweek found himself in a bar. It was more of a dive than anything, but it was quiet and seemed clean enough. That was better than fighting for elbow room at the bar, or having to weave through crowds of people just to get to the bathroom. 

Settling at the bar, he ordered himself a beer and observed the walls in the dimly-lit room. Nearly the entirety of the space behind the bar was covered in old license plates. He couldn't quite read the tag numbers, but based on the different colors and designs, it was clear that they were from all over. Cool. 

Beside him, though there was a space between them, was a rather slim man reading a book. Because he was sitting, Tweek struggled to guess at his height, but he was probably tall or average height. Maybe his hair was brown, maybe it was black. He was chewing something. But was it chicle? He didn't know. There was a lot of which he was uncertain. The lighting really wasn't that great. 

"Aren't you worried about damaging your eyesight?" 

The man paused in his reading and glanced over. "What."

"You know, it's just really dark in here and you're reading."

"Reading in the dark doesn't damage your eyesight." The man's voice was stiff, but Tweek apparently couldn't read a room. "Eye strain, sure, but that's only temporary."

"Oh." Tweek paused. "I assume you must do a lot of work in poor lighting, so I'll take your word for it."

" _ What _ ." 

Before Tweek could elaborate, the bartender came over to wipe the counter between them. "Everything alright, Craig?"

Craig was a rather boring name for a whore, and a bottom at that, but what did Tweek know about anything? Not much, apparently… 

"Yeah, I've got this," Craig assured the bartender. As soon as the other man left, he looked at Tweek. "Care to explain what you meant?"

"I just… you know, people in your line of work often work in the dark or lowlights?" Craig kept staring at him, which clearly meant that Tweek needed to continue. "Anyway, if you're on the clock, so to speak, I've got about fifty dollars. Is that enough to bend you over or just get you on your knees?"

And that was when it hit him. A literal, actual fist. The sound his cartilage made, the immense pain, the gushing blood—it was more than obvious that he'd just gotten his nose broken. Tweek gingerly covered his nose with his hands as he tried to steady his breathing. "What the fuck, man!"

"I should be asking  _ you _ that. Who do you think you are, making assumptions about people like that! It's fucked up."

Some other things were said, which very clearly suggested that it was in Tweek's best interest to change venues quickly. So he paid his tab and learned a very valuable lesson: some things just weren't his business. 


End file.
